Forgiveness
by Celinarose
Summary: In which an ex-wizard wonders if some people know how to forgive and forget, after all.


'Forgotten and forgiven'. A common phrase, entirely coated with lies. Barely anyone forgot the past, and fewer forgave it.

The War had its casualties, witches and wizards from both sides among them, but some were of the opinion that those that had died had it easy.

The members of the Light side weren't complaining, of course. It was those left over from the Dark that had lost nearly everything. Their cause, their reputation, and for a few, even their magic.

It had taken quite a while for Blaise to get used to being a Muggle, to live as one of the people he had been taught to despise. A not-very-well-off one, at that. All it had taken was one word from the Wizengamot to reduce him from the heir of one of the eminent Wizarding families of Britain, to practically nothing.

The shock, the suddenness, had nearly broken his mother. She'd never been quite right again. But he'd gotten used to it eventually. To all of it; the tiny shack he now called home, the position as a mere clerk, and worst of all, the complete lack of magic.

He wondered if he could ever fix it, any of it, as he walked back home along the quiet road. Probably not, he realised. Later, he'd think it ironic that he'd been pondering about that, just before he was shown just how far he'd fallen.

"Hey you!" a gruff voice called from some distance behind him. He paused and turned his head to look at the speaker.

"Zabini, isn't it?"

His blood ran cold, and he dug his hands deeper into his pockets.

"I don't go by that name, anymore," he replied, his voice quivering ever so slightly. He hoped it wouldn't give away that he was afraid, now that he didn't have his own wand.

The figure drew closer, and Blaise noticed that the man had his hand on his other sleeve, and the familiar piece of wood was sticking out of the sleeve.

"You thought you'd get away, didn't you, you cowardly scum?" the voice said, sounding much louder this time. "You ran away, like all of the Death Eaters that deserved to be killed!"

"I wasn't one of them!" he protested.

"You were close enough!" the other wizard replied, unwavered.

Blaise decided to try an entirely different tactic.

"This is a Muggle street," he said, quietly, hoping this would deter the man from using magic.

"No one comes by here this late, and we both know it. Did you really think that would work on me?" The figure came nearer, and Blaise backed away, defensively. Suddenly, his back was against the wall, and a wand was at his throat.

"You'll not escape me! I'll make sure you pay for everything you and your disgusting friends have done."

The Slytherin judged it better to remain quiet. He knew he had to find a way out, because, defenseless, he would be no match for the wizard. Before he had time to think of a plan, however, the light from the wizard's wand hit him.

He doubled over with the pain from the Cruciatus Curse that the man seemed to be maintaining with ease. Each cell in his body seemed to be exploding with the torment. His knees buckled and he fell to the hard ground, convulsing. Then, it stopped.

Blaise lifted his head from the cold pavement, still struggling to regain his breath, only to find the stranger with the wand still pointed at him, and a grin that told him that it wasn't quite over yet. The next moment, he felt a sharp pang in his chest. He clutched at his shirt to attempt to lessen the pain, but it did little to fulfill the purpose. Instead, he discovered his blood on his hand when he drew it away. The charm had cut deep, and blood flowed freely from the open wound.

He wasn't prepared for the Levicorpus that hit him next, lifting him from the sidewalk by his toes, hanging him upside down like a puppet, and making it harder for him to breathe. He was so occupied trying to recover his senses, that he nearly didn't notice the silhouettes on brooms in the starry night, flying towards him. But he did, and he immediately realised what they were.

His attacker followed his hopeful gaze, and on finding the figures, he dropped the spell immediately. Blaise struggled to get to his feet, holding on to the stone ledges of the wall near him for support. He realised how quickly the tables had turned, when the other man looked at him somewhat fearfully.

The Aurors on the brooms landed close to the entrance of the alley. For a few moments, Blaise wondered if the Wizengamot had changed its mind about him after all these years, and decided to kill him instead, but he found the Aurors approaching the stranger standing across him.

Through the ringing in his ears, that was growing louder and louder by the moment, he heard something about tracking the use of the Unforgivables, and the man being arrested. He gripped the ledge tighter, barely managing to stay on his feet as he saw one of the Aurors walk towards him.

For a split second, he saw her eyes widen in surprise at recognising him, but she quickly regained her composure. He heard her apologise for the behaviour of the man, and mention some other witches and wizards he had attacked, but it was becoming harder and harder for him to pay attention. Black spots began to hover in his vision and his hands slipped from the wall. The last thing he remembered before passing out and hitting something soft, instead of the floor, was wondering if some people had forgotten and forgiven, after all.

* * *

 **Notes:**

 **Written for the Quidditch League Fanfiction Challenge**

 **Bludger:** **Write about a witch or wizard being attacked.**

 **Team: Kenmare Kestrels**

 **Position: Beater 1**

 **Optional Prompts: None**

 **Word count: 970 +A/N**


End file.
